"Don't make any decisions before the 29th," intones the psychic man who is doing me a reading. He's read my palms and told me I'm going to live 'til the age of 90. He's told me I've been in three serious relationships. He's dished out all sorts of info and I'm totally into it!
For me this kind of thing exists in a world not unlike the one which art and literature comes from. It's not meant to be serious, like the world of science or religion. Debunking it is in my mind a bit like pointing out that a work of art 'is just' a load of paint on canvas. Attacking its reliability is like asking Van Gogh what his painting does that's useful.
The psychic holy man ends the reading by telling me to meditate more and trying to flog me a few CDs. I leave entranced. Ace.